A Dharma Glimpse by Dave

    I’ve been living at the temple for three years now, during that time I have had to start wearing reading glasses, I have lost the second of my two top front teeth resulting in me now having false teeth and just last week I was fitted with a hearing aid. I am 57 years old. When we read the morning verse at the start of garden practice it begins “Time has passed with the swiftness of light, it is already morning. Impermanence rushes upon us every moment……..”.

    It certainly feels like it’s rushed upon me. Impermanence seems a lot more relevant and personal when you experience it undoubtedly happening to your own body.

    We get old, we get ill, and we die. These are the facts. The stupid thing is, if I’m honest I’m embarrassed about all these recent changes that have happened to me, I don’t particularly mind the thought of dying but I don’t really want to get old. What a ridiculous notion! To be embarrassed about getting older, it’s a fact of life and it happens to all of us. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m getting old before my time. My mum is 84, has all her own teeth and does not need to wear a hearing aid. The supposedly ideal Body image is drummed into our subconscious in films and through the adverts we see everywhere. Muscular, active men and young, slim “attractive” women (note the use of inverted commas with the word attractive). If we don’t reach the high standards set by the advertising and fashion industries we are made to feel inadequate or passed our best.

    I have heard it said, that if we looked at people the way we looked at trees the world would be a better place. The older a tree becomes, the more damaged it becomes and with that, the more interesting and diverse. Old trees are fascinatingly beautiful, whereas young trees can be quite uninteresting to look at in comparison. Every tree is different, and the more unusual or quirky a tree looks, the more we admire it. When we think of the human body; lumpy, bent, wobbly or broken bits are thought of as unwanted attributes. On a tree these can be seen as a bonus.

    Trees are great!                       

    A tree is not just an individual organism but an entire ecosystem. They are full of fungal hyphae and bacteria, they are often covered in mosses, lichen and other plants. The most biodiverse and ecologically valuable are the ancient and veteran trees, some of which are thousands of years old. The definition of a veteran tree is one which has certain features such as dead limbs, rot holes, flaking bark and hollow stems. These are the features which are homes to bats, birds and some of our rarest invertebrates. A project that I have been working on recently involves attempting to create new veteran trees by deliberately damaging semi mature trees to produce  some of these features. This process is known as veteranisation. As our ancient trees are naturally and gradually dying we have nothing to immediately replace them due to the way our landscape has been managed in recent decades, hence the need for this somewhat drastic action. To misquote Leonard Cohen “The cracks are where the bats get in”

    I feel life  (or the Buddha) is putting me through the process of veteranisation at the moment, hopefully with my new broken bits I can become a more interesting and useful person.Namo Amida Bu

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    We breath together

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    A Glimpse by Paramita

    The Radio 4 Thought For The Day caught my attention the other morning. It was that sort of early morning, contemplative type material, that probably wouldn’t really have registered so well if I’d heard it in the midst of a normal busy day. The theme was Conspiracy Theory – I can’t remember the exact title.

    The narrator offered perspectives on society’s increasingly erratic response to the seemingly cloak and dagger antics of the geo-political corruption culprits. How a growing percentage of the population think that the global elite seem to be covertly closing down our freedoms and our ability to create happy and prosperous lives for ourselves. And some of the dangerous ideas and schemes that are and have been streaming out of the Conspiracy melting pot.

    The tone of the piece was definitely tilted negatively towards Conspiracy Theory, and highlighted all of the more erratic aspects without really giving credence or fair representation to any of the events or the facts that provide the basis for it. In short, it was biased! While I tend to agree that the work of the growing Conspiracy Theory Network seems to spiral wildly into and out from its own neurotic fear complex, it’s also difficult for me to turn away from it without acknowledging that there is more and more evidence to suggest that we are being gradually hypnotized into some nightmare world, where our potential and vulnerability is being weaponized against us – in the name of profit and control.

    But what to do?

    In a previous episode of my life I spent some years losing myself in a confusing melange of elaborate, radical and sometimes downright hysterical ideas about all sorts of plots to control, suppress and dumb down the Human masses. In the end there were just too many. No Global Cabal, I reasoned, could ever possibly keep track of that many evil schemes with any degree of coherence or effectiveness. And so I dropped it all, even more suddenly than I had gotten my troubled little head enmeshed into it in the first place. I realised that the only way for me to make any kind of change in this world was to start with myself, heal, grow, and then take care of my own little corner, tend to my own metaphorical garden, insignificant as it might seem against the bigger picture.

    As I think about it, I can remember this being one of the many threads that eventually led me out of a very harmful lifestyle and into a more engaged and sensible attitude and approach to the world, and life in general.

    I became more and more involved in various recovery and religious communities, that aspired to the harnessing of collective power. The way forward was in a co-ordinated climb towards self-understanding, shared values and progressive attitudes.

    ‘’The word conspire means to breathe together’’

    This was the line that really peaked my interest in this particular radio offering.

    Etymologically, the Latin con -’together with’ and spirare – ‘breathe’ – gives us con-spire, and now conjures up images of darkened figures huddled in windowless rooms, formulating emboldened schemes to snatch back control from some hidden hand that wields ultimate power.

    It also reminds me of our communal practice here in the Buddhist Temple where I live. Apart from the day to day functioning of the place, which requires concerted efforts continually, we also share meditation practice, in which we, quite literally, ‘breathe together’. We sit quietly, allowing peace and tranquillity to infiltrate our busy minds. We contemplate enlightenment and look towards a higher reality, inhabited by wiser and more loving beings, and we attempt to emulate and manifest that reality in our very Human lives.

    This is the kind of conspiracy that moves me today. A kind of collective counterbalancing effort, that sends out subtle and powerful ripples into the ever deepening darkness.

    Namo Amida Bu.

    The Buddha’s Hands

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma Glimpse by Izzy

    Sometimes I feel the Buddha’s hands at work in my life.

    A while ago now, I was sat at my laptop, as I am right now, scrolling through my emails, when I saw one from the RNLI. “Enter Our Million Pound House Draw! All profits go to the RNLI”. I went to press ENTER to delete but hovered over the key, my eyes drawn to the photos and description of the shiny house. It was in Yorkshire, with the Dales on the doorstep. There was an outdoor swimming pool, countless bedrooms and one of those big, open kitchens with an island in the middle. I shut the screen closed and went to run a bath. As I did, my mind leaping off into elaborate fantasies of what life would be like if I had this house. All the different options it would open up to me. How I could go and live there for a while and invite people, family or close friends. I have very little control over who I share the temple with. This house would be mine. I could invite who I want, when I want. In time I could turn it into my own Buddhist and yoga retreat centre or a community space. Or rent it out and have the income to sustain my life here in Malvern. Imagine, the freedom it would offer me, all the travelling I could do. As I sank into the bath I sank deeper and deeper into my fantasies. That’s it, I thought, I’m going to enter it. The words of my colleagues at work ringing in my ear “you’ve got to be in it to win it”. Other parts around saying, yes, we work really hard, we deserve to win a million pound house! When I went back to my room, I opened the laptop and went to enter the draw. The cheapest option, £10, the most I’ve ever spent on a raffle. I do it and head to bed for the night. I don’t think much of it then until a month or so later when I spot an email. “Congratulations! You are one of our gift card winners!”. I open the email to see I have won a £10 gift card.

    In that moment, filled with the excitement of being “a winner” and the disappointment of winning the same value I paid to enter the draw, I see the Buddha in my mind’s eye. Their soft, round shoulders, the edges of their mouth gently curling up. They smile and say “you don’t need a house, you already have this temple to live in, but here is your £10 back.”

    Sometimes I feel the Buddha’s hands at work in my life. Showing me I already have everything I could ever need, right here.

    Namo Amida Bu

    Fear and my Sofa

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma Glimpse by Kusuma

    Last summer we began the stressful project of extending our tiny two bedroom house to make it a family home. We put some of our belongings in to storage and I mentally prepared myself for 6 weeks of mess and stress, which dragged out for more than 12 weeks.

    As foundations were made, new walls built and existing walls were knocked down, our large three seater sofa sat in the centre of it all, covered in dust sheets.

    But as the plastering stage arrived the builders decided the sofa had to go, but go where exactly? There was no spare space in the house, and our storage unit was full. Our only alternative was the cabin in the garden.

    Two young builders half my age huffed and puffed and complained about how heavy the sofa was as they lifted it out of the house and in to our cabin. Their moaning rocketed my anxiety levels up from a 5 to a 10 in a matter of seconds. How heavy was this thing? If it is really that heavy, how would myself and my husband every lift it back in? “You will lift it back in to the house when the job is done” I asked. “Yes don’t worry about it” the one replied.

    But worry I did. I have always been a worrier and something relatively simple can rapidly snowball in to something that consumes my everyday thinking. Switching off our fears can be hard especially when those fears have manifested from another person’s actions or behaviour.

    I learnt very early on in my life that my parents were very good at projecting their own fears on to their only child. On school trips my mum would tell me to sit in the middle of the coach as it was the safest part. Can you imagine how much anxiety my neuro-divergent brain went through about a simple school trip. Friends would sit at the back of the coach and I would sit in the middle!

    Fear rapidly grows and with it so do the three poisons, greed, hate and delusion mixed with a dash of envy.

    The weeks rolled on and the end of our building work came about rather abruptly and the builders disappeared leaving the sofa in the cabin. I became angry and hateful, why would they leave someone of my age to lift the sofa back in to the house? I envied their youth and ability to seemingly lift things without a care.

    I stared out of my new kitchen window at the sofa gathering dust in our cabin and every day I felt sick at the idea of trying to lift it. The fear grew bigger and bigger as Christmas rapidly approached. That sofa was going to need to come back in the house or we would have nothing to sit on for the holiday season. My worry and delusion expanded with momentum. What if I can’t lift it back in? What if I lift the sofa and a disc in my back slips again. What if I fall?

    Sometimes in order to overcome your fears you have to take a step back, sit with the fear, breathe with awareness and just take a risk. My worst fears could manifest but they also might not. So the day before Christmas Eve we cleared a path from the cabin to the back door and lifted the large sofa with a couple of breaks to catch our breath. It turns out the sofa was heavy, but manageable and my fears had been blown out of proportion based on a judgment. I had assumed that if two young men thought that the sofa was heavy, then my 52 year old arthritic body was never going to manage it. I laughed at myself. If we had tried to even just lift the sofa to see how heavy it was after the builders had left, we would have known it wasn’t going to be a problem and I wouldn’t have worried so much for weeks on end.

    The moving of my sofa turned out to be a valuable lesson in overcoming my fears. The awareness and insight didn’t manifest on its own of course. In the weeks building up to the sofa lift I meditated to try and reduce my anxiety, and in turn it helped me to walk with my fear to get the job done.

    Sometimes we have to have a little bit more faith in our own judgement. It turns out that my over protective mother was right and a middle aisle seat is the safest seat on a coach but sometimes we choose a seat based the people we are with and the view from the window rather than allowing fear to stop us from enjoying the ride.

    Making our way back to this

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma Glimpse by Mat Osmond

    This is a glimpse that arrived in two halves.

    The first half came a few weeks ago as I was giving my daughter Zoe a driving lesson. We had the Sat Nav on, but for some reason we kept turning aside from the route it offered back to where we’d started out from. If you’ve used a Sat Nav you’ll know what happens next. The App just reorients, and begins directing you again from whatever way you’re now facing.

    Sometimes a moment lingers in the memory like an odd little question mark waiting to be understood. I think this is what a ‘dharma glimpse’ means to me, but maybe koan would be nearer the mark. The Sat Nav’s patient recalibration, over and over as we failed to follow its advice, felt like one of these moments. No opinion offered – and no reproach. And where we’re making our way back to, regardless of how often we turn aside from it, hasn’t moved or changed, has it? It just happens to be in this direction now, instead of that.

    The second half happened when I was praying silent nembutsu a week or so later.

    At some point I must have slipped without noticing it from saying Namo Amida bu to saying Maranatha, an Aramaic version of the Prayer of the Heart which I learned from the Benedictine teacher Fr John Main, and have come back to many times over the years. 

    It must have been a good ten minutes before I even realised what had happened , and when I did, it seemed oddly funny. As if for once I’d been accidentally honest with Amida, and with myself. As if, the most honest way I could say nembutsu was in fact to forget the correct words, to muddle them up and get them wrong.

    This isn’t about advocating a mix-and-match approach to prayer though. Trying to find the right blend sounds quite … tiring. It smells of calculating mind to me – which is to say, mixing and matching different approaches until I finally hit on the right formula basically leaves this whole finding the way home business up to me. Like I said, tiring. 

    But whatever it means to open the defended heart to measureless, un-measuring Life, I suppose coming to Amida ‘just as I am’ has to include, then, this curious inability to settle on a given name.

    If I were to call myself a Pureland Buddhist it would be in exactly this sense, I think. After decades of putting on one form of prayer after another like so many borrowed shirts, it seems I’ve failed at even this simplest of bombu practices: calling the name.  And it’s right here in this obscure inability to settle that Amida finds me as I am, irrespective of how often I veer off one way or another. 

    I’ve no idea what comes next, to be honest – but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe that’s the point.

    To be continued. Namo Amida bu.


    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma glimpse by Dave Smith

    As part of the book study group, I have been reading ‘The Shamanic Bones of Zen’ by Zenju Earthlyn Manuel. There is a section in this book where she talks about communal chanting and the connections we make with other people who have repeated the same chants over the years. Not only people in the same temple or from your particular Sangha but other people carrying out the same practice across the world. This got me to thinking about the moon, and how, if you are missing someone you love who is temporarily parted from you, if you both look out of your windows at the same time, you can each see the same moon shining down on you from above, and feel connected again. I think I got this idea from a romantic film or book but I can’t remember exactly where.
    As I was writing about this, that’s when my Dharma glimpse hit me! This is the exact same moon that Shinran and Shakyamuni would have seen when they looked up at the night sky, and the same moon that Rumi and so many other poets and musicians have written about, and so many artists have painted. We all share the same moon, the same sun, the stars and this planet that we all live on. The reality that just a couple of thousand years ago Shakyamuni Buddha would have been looking up at the same moon that I can see now as I am typing this, is immensely comforting. It’s obvious really, it’s just something that hadn’t occurred to me before, I suppose that’s what a Dharma glimpse is, when something that’s always been there, suddenly becomes apparent. Whenever I see the moon now, I think of the Buddha, not just the concept but the person who became enlightened, Shakyamuni Buddha, and I feel connected
    Namo Amida Bu

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    The Dharma of Traffic Lights

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    A Dharma Glimpse by Khema

    I have noticed a number of road works recently popping up on the road between my house and town and with them temporary traffic lights. I usually come across these when I’m running late and invariably the lights are always on red. I work predominantly from home these days which I enjoy so I don’t travel this route as frequently -so I’d usually know in advance of roadworks . Previously Id find myself working out an elaborate way of avoiding them where possible. Thoughts go through my head about jumping the red light when it takes too long to change and there’s no other traffic coming from the opposite direction. Are they broken? I’m often irritated by these temporary lights and the road works and a number of questions repeat inside my head. I Wonder why there is never any one working whenever I pass? Why is this stretch of road being dug up yet again. Don’t they know how inconvenient this is? Could they not coordinate their jobs – 3 sets of different road works and lights in the same week on the same stretch of road. REALLY!!!!Doesn’t seem like good planning to me?

    I’m not sure why they invoke such negative feelings so I’ve tried to explore why. Why do they upset and irritate me so much. Why does this bring me suffering. When I’m home and sat with a cuppa or a cat on my lap, these thoughts seem so irrational. Any yet they pop up almost every time.

    As routine traffic lights don’t have the same impact. I believe that ultimately, it’s usually because I have given myself the exact amount of time to get where I’m going and not left a buffer. I remember Kaspa referring to this term several years ago and ive held on to this term ever since. A buffer allows for any mishaps or unplanned events on the way such as tractors or sheep which is fairly frequent where I live or simply just busy traffic- or of course temporary traffic light that you don’t anticipate. So instead I get annoyed with the lights and not myself. Is it easier to be angry at an inanimate object. This is silly for many reasons. A red light is not a thinking, sentient being as we are. They are pieces of automated equipment which preform specific tasks in a technical and objective way. So by definition, they can not be out to get you or ruin your day, even though it may feel like that at times . Some individuals even go as far as yelling at these objects as if they can hear us and reflect on their wrongdoing. Resistentialism is a jocular theory to describe “seemingly spiteful behaviour manifested by inanimate objects”,where objects that cause problems are said to exhibit a high degree of malice toward humans.

    I can understand being upset with actual living , thinking beings , capable of making moral decisions but being angry at objects such as a traffic light is not logical behaviour and once you accept that it is not logical to be angry at inanimate objects or equipment , there will be a feeling of relief and understanding that comes over you. Any most definitely always give yourself a buffer.

    A Journey into The Hills

    A Dharma Glimpse by Philip

    I recently returned to live in Malvern. I’m temporarily staying at the temple, where I lived for a year not so long ago, while I find myself somewhere more permanent nearby.

    The hills have always had something special for me. I used to come here by bus and train when I lived in the Black Country of a weekend. It was always worth the effort. I frequently forget how great I thought it would be to live here in Malvern. And now I’ve done it. Twice. I’m not a huge walker, but get out for at least a short walk in the hills several times a week when I’ve lived here or come down to stay at the temple for a few days or more. I waited about a week this time before going in them. I think I wanted to ground myself at the temple. I’m learning to ground myself more when there has been, or will be, some sort of change that will rattle my younger parts.

    I went on a sunny day. It was beautiful. As soon as I got to a wooded path up into the hills, memories and feelings came back of a sangha member who is no longer physically with us, but lives on through a memorial apple tree in the garden. It brought up loss and sadness. I’d bumped into him several times around this area of the hills. And that triggered other, even deeper, losses experienced whilst living at the temple the last time.

    I carried on trudging along the paths. Through woods. Gently touching the leaves and occasionally a solid, wise and kind feeling tree trunk. They have a knowing for me. The sun had been obscured by these for much of the route, but I could still feel its warmth. Maybe like the warmth of Amida; we can’t necessarily see it, but we can feel it if we try. Which, for me, seems to have a lot to do with surrendering.

    I stopped when the sun was more directly overhead. Peering through the leaves and branches that were gently swaying in the gentle breeze. Shadows flickering and dancing all around me. I consciously tried to really notice the warmth of the sun and the beauty all around me. I thought of the cross training machines I’ve started using at the Malvern Splash gym. They now have a screen showing a journey through somewhere pleasant, usually the sort of nature I was experiencing. Parts of me may not be able to distinguish these recordings from actually being in nature; both have a soothing, calming effect. But parts of me do know, and feel, the difference. And, perhaps, parts of me know and feel the reality I perceive is only one reality. And maybe not the true nature of reality. If a TV screen can deceive me, I’m guessing plenty more can. I think I had an instinctive knowing up there that a deeper reality was behind what I was seeing and perceiving. I am becoming more accepting of that. It isn’t as scary as it used to be. Just like, relatedly, impermanence isn’t. Although parts of me are still very scared and confused. I’m acknowledging them as I write and trying to send them compassion and soothing, which they have so often gone without in my life.

    My journey in the hills continued down some winding, wooded paths. There was less inspiration and more (albeit limited) physical pain from the pressure on joints from descending and gravity. This journey ended back at the temple. But my journey through life goes on, for however long that will be. The walk in the hills felt like a microcosm of that wider journey; loss, sadness, inspiration, warmth, beauty, pain. The physical distance hadn’t been so far, but emotionally and spiritually had felt much longer. Like the theory of relativity perhaps; different worlds and realms coming together on the hills that are on different trajectories. I’m trying to stay more in the present, whilst opening up more to connecting with the past. Perhaps that might relate to ‘The Shamanic Bones of Zen’ I’m reading for the current temple book group. We’ll see. For now, I feel grateful for my journey in the hills.

    Namo Amida Bu

    Connection, the Power of Community and Interconnectedness

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma Glimpse by Alison

    During the Covid Era, I experienced real isolation, extreme isolation. Isolation so severe that I’ve been on a mission ever since to ensure no one has to go through what I did for two whole years.  This was a tall order.  I recognised that not everyone has met isolation and many love their own company and feel safe with that.  I used to love my own company, but since covid, I can no longer enjoy my own company, without the company of nature or of other people.  At no point in my life has community been more essential.  I understand, that as humans and mammals, we all need connection, we all need each other.  Zoom, Netflix, social media and even e-mail are not substitutes for Real Connection and face to face communication.  The disconnection is like a modern disease of the human race.   Having spent nearly a decade in Asia, I’ve been challenged in the UK by a very different social culture.  A culture of extreme independence and Having Enough;  a culture of caring for our own and of strong individualism.  In many Asian cultures, particularly in East Asia where I lived and worked, people identify first and foremost with the group, before the individual.  Before living in Asia, I lived many years in ‘socialist Berlin’, where coming together as a community was a normal daily experience.   There are obviously benefits on all sides, but we must ultimately find the balance that works best for us.   I wonder though, if my need for community and connection is just another addictive behaviour?  I wonder too, if I am not just pushing a value onto others?  Where is the line between a need and a service to others?  How can we know when we are working for the good of all and when we are self-serving?

    My experience last April, of coming together at The Big One with XR Buddhists in London,  had made me feel alive again!  I had reconnected with that force that works through me each and every time I am part of something bigger than my individual worries and difficulties.  Like stepping out into Other Power (or the Infinite), into something much bigger, self power (or our limited egoic nature) just melts away and dissolves, like ice in water.  A becoming One Unified Living Breathing Body. On the other hand, I am reflecting that if people each live on their own island, they can only see the vast oceans of separation between them. Building fences around ourselves so high that we can only live with the stories of our own inventions and can’t see the reality beyond.  To me, from my experience, this separation can cause people to become so wrapped up in self power or their own small selves.  How do we break free from our small egoic worlds?  I love the phrase from Gandhi when he implied that, in changing ourselves, we could also change the world.  Yes, people can change on the inside, but starting with my small self, I together with others, can plant seeds, build bridges or grow ways of linking up, bringing people together, like trees reaching out their roots to connect and to communicate beneath the soil.  Gentle connection, respecting space whilst connecting with our roots.  It’s not a forcing or a pushing, but a Surrendering into a more Expansive Awareness of each other.  n Acknowledgment of each other.  A growing in Wholeness.  A finding Strength in Unity.  An Awareness that we are all Interconnected. We are all One. Perhaps I can step aside from the person I think I am and let the Self, or the Buddha, meet all of my difficult parts and offer their unconditional love and healing.  Perhaps, in non dualistic terms, where people aren’t experiencing themselves as individuals, where there is no ‘I’ or ‘we,’ people can rest in a shared space, a space not of Doing but of Being. Resting in Being in gently Expanding Awareness.  People’s roots, like the trees, reaching out into a vast web of interconnection.

    Impermanence, grief and healing

    Categories: buddhism dharma glimpse

    Dharma Glimpse by Ali

    In October last year one of my best friends sadly took her own life. I was devastated and heartbroken and was weighed down with grief.

    Another close friend sent me these words which I will share with you now.

    “ When it comes to grief, remember this –

    You have not broken a bone, there is no default treatment, no cure, no timeline for your healing.
    You cannot strap your heart to the heart next to it and hope it mends itself.
    You cannot rest it for weeks or months.
    You cannot rely on your other heart like you might a leg or an arm.
    You have not broken a bone.
    And yet, like a broken bone, your heart will always now have a vulnerable spot, a bruise, a burn, a scar.
    And just as your arm can still ache after breaking when it has been holding too much for too long, so your heart will ache.
    When it has been holding too much for too long.
    But just as your once broken arm can still hold things and your broken leg can still dance, so your heart will learn to carry you forward,
    Even when it aches.”

    These words brought me great comfort but I was still burdened with grief.
    And then I walked into the temple here in Malvern and my healing really started.

    I was struck by the ways Buddhism provided insight in my grief that was completely different than anything else.
    In Buddhism , impermanence is an inescapable truth of existence. In a world and culture where we strive for permanence (lasting or remaining unchanged).
    Buddhism teaches us that impermanence (lasting or temporarily) is fundamental to everything. From life to health to joy and sorrow to material objects to our very identity, nothing is permanent no matter how much we want it to be. Everything is constantly changing, existence is always in flux.
    Buddhism explains that our attachment to things and failure to accept impermanence is at the root of all suffering.

    As someone who had gone through a significant loss, this idea of impermanence resonated with me immediately. As I read more and thought more, I decided I had two choices. I could try to restore the old life and self that I believed was the real ‘me’ and how things should be. Or I could accept that my loss fundamentally changed me, and we will forever be changing.

    I could pretend I was the same person now but I knew I was not. I had changed and would continue to change. So forcing myself to believe the things that I believed before was not the answer. Instead I needed to focus on the present. One day at a time, one moment at a time. Building awareness of my life – the good, the bad and the ugly, all in flux and ever changing.
    Buddha would remind us that we should not become attached to our path, it will always look different for all of us.